


remember this

by epsiloneridani



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Allusions to addiction, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Reference to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsiloneridani/pseuds/epsiloneridani
Summary: Family is everything.After Tobias Hankel, they find Reid in the graveyard, kneeling and shaking and clutching a weapon between his hands. He hangs onto Hotch, a brief and broken beat, and then lets go, and then saysI need a minute alone, and it’s everything Morgan has to walk away.It’s everything Morgan has to not drag him close and hold and whisperI’ve got you. I’m here. We’re taking you home.





	remember this

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings: blood, canon-typical violence, allusions to addiction**

When they find him, Derek finally remembers how to breathe.

Reid’s shaking and shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking, rocking, rocking on his heels while they sweep through the final steps at the police station, but he’s there and he’s breathing and he’s _alive_ so Morgan bites back his _Hey, kid_ and tries to keep from staring at the dark bruises and the broken blood. It makes his heart burn in his chest, fervid flame and grief and everything Reid doesn’t need.

“We’re heading to the plane,” Hotch says quietly, hovering at Spencer’s elbow, close enough to catch him if he keels over but not close enough for contact. “Are you packed?”

It takes Reid an uncharacteristic moment to process his words but he manages a shaky nod and smile. Hotch hesitates.

“You refused any further medical treatment at the hospital,” he says softly. “Are you sure--”

“I’m fine,” Reid says, nodding. Nodding. So fast. Wrong. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course.”

Morgan hefts his bag before he can reach for it. “I got it,” he says, flashing an easy grin he doesn’t feel. “What, you think I can’t lift one suitcase?”

Reid clutches his satchel. His fingers play at the edges, nervous in a way Morgan aches to soothe. “No,” Spencer says, blinking, blinking, blinking. “Uh, thank you.”

Reid settles into his couch almost immediately but even after the others have dropped off -- he hasn’t. Morgan watches him over the top of his book. His headphones are silenced. Put them on for show. Don’t give Reid a reason to notice or cover or hide.

“You should get some sleep.”

It’s never that easy, is it? Morgan tugs his headset off and considers, for a second, trying to play it off, but it’s Reid. He’s caught. No point. “You too,” Derek says instead.

Reid snorts softly at that and shifts, curling an arm under his cheek and tilting his head to meet Morgan’s gaze. His hair is matted, messy, eyes blown wide, and for an instant Morgan’s back in that shithole of a house driving his fingernails into his palms until he almost bleeds and breathing through every one of Reid’s screams.

“I can’t,” Spencer says at last, and it’s low to keep from waking the others but it sounds more like a hoarse croak than a whisper. “Sleep. I can’t.”

Morgan sets the book and the headset aside. “ _Can’t_ doesn’t sound like you, kid.”

Reid bites his lip and fidgets with the blanket’s edge. He’s tucked it under his arms instead of over them, and even in the shirt and vest and cardigan in a warm plane, his shoulders shake. “I can’t,” he says again.

Morgan stands slowly, conscious that Reid’s tracking his every motion with those too-big eyes. “That’s okay,” he says, taking two careful steps and easing to the floor beside the couch. He props his arms on his knees and folds his hands together so he can’t reach out. Reid and touch, Reid and space: it’s sensory, sometimes, but he can at least _be here_ , beside him. Close.

“I need to sleep,” Reid says blankly.

“Why can’t you?”

Reid stares at him like it should be obvious and it is but some small part of Morgan hopes he’ll say it, hopes he’ll let him in, let him help, let him protect him the way he couldn’t over the last four days. “I just can’t sleep,” Reid says, fiddling with the blanket again. His fingers tremble, and Morgan clasps his own hands tighter so he doesn’t take Reid’s, doesn’t hold and hold and pray it helps. If Spencer wants touch he’ll seek it out himself.

“My dad used to tell me stories when I couldn’t sleep,” Morgan says, and the smile is smaller but it feels so much easier, here in the quiet and the peace.

“Like what?”

“What?”

“What were they about?”

Morgan raises an eyebrow at him. “It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

Something in Reid’s voice deflates. Wrong thing to say. Not a rejection. “I don’t remember exactly what they were about,” Morgan says quickly, “but I have a pretty good idea.”

Reid blinks at him, maybe hopeful, Derek wants to think it’s hopeful, so he pushes on. “So there’s this prince,” he says, “and he lives in this castle with the king and queen and the two princesses.”

“You and your sisters,” Spencer says immediately.

Morgan stops and stares at him for a beat. Typical Reid. Catches on quick. “Yeah,” Derek says, “me and my sisters.”

“Is this going to be a parable or a fable?”

Morgan rolls his eyes. “Neither,” he says, and he wants to ruffle the kid’s hair, see that little grin. “I’m changing it.”

“So is it still about--”

“Hey, who’s the storyteller here?” Morgan asks, and it’s gentle, but Reid’s mouth snaps shut. His fingers twitch faster, faster, and he nods, short and snapping. Wrong.

“It’s about this kid,” Derek says without really thinking. Anything to sweep that fear away.

“A kid?”

“Yeah, a kid,” Morgan says. “He likes science. Hates sports. He knows a lot.”

“Hmm.”

“He knows a lot,” Morgan says again, and coughs down the lump in his throat. “He’s really smart, right? He can recite Pi to like ten thousand digits.”

Reid tilts his head slightly, and Derek swears he can hear gears turning. “That’s more memory than a measure of IQ.”

Morgan quirks a smile. It hurts. “Yeah, okay. So he’s smart and he’s got a hell of a memory. But for all that? There’s one thing I don’t think he knows.”

His throat burns. Eyes sting. He can’t swipe at them, so he drops his voice and hopes, wills. Be strong. Always be strong. Reid waits a beat. “What doesn’t he know?” he asks hoarsely, and out of the corner Morgan can see him blinking too.

“He’s not alone,” Morgan says. His palms ache from where his fingernails are digging in, ache like they did when Reid was seizing and convulsing and dying and he couldn’t _get to him_ , couldn’t bring him back, bring him home, keep him safe.

“He’s not alone,” Derek repeats, and it explodes from his lungs and the sting in his eyes becomes a burn becomes searing tracks on his cheeks. “He’s not _alone_. And he’s got people who love him. _So damn much_.”

He can’t turn, can’t make himself meet Reid’s gaze so he stares straight ahead at his hands. There’s a soft touch to his shoulder though, and suddenly he can move.

Reid’s eyes are wet. So wide. He squeezes Derek’s shoulder again. “I think he knows,” he croaks, and his other hand twitches, twitches. Morgan shifts to face him, reaches out, slow, slow, and cradles Reid’s head in his hands.

“You’re not alone, kid,” Morgan whispers, brushing a hand through Spencer’s hair, careful, so damn careful. Reid relaxes into the touch, _it’s okay, contact is okay_. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t move and he doesn’t push away.

Morgan presses his forehead to Spencer’s, a breath of a touch.

“I’m here,” Morgan says, and Reid’s eyes slip shut. “I’m here.”

\----


End file.
